


Cures and Anesthetics

by henghost



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Drug Use, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:45:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henghost/pseuds/henghost
Summary: Ashley's medications help her, but they also warp her thoughts about sex. And she can't decide whether that makes living with Victoria easier or harder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I'd throw my hat in the Ashley/Victoria ring.

Ashley stared at the tower of orange bottles in her medicine cabinet and carefully began to remove them, one by one. She lined them up on the sink and started the process of unscrewing the caps of each bottle and removing the necessary number of pills and swallowing them—five at once—with a gulp of water from the faucet.

Most of the medications were Bonesaw-made, which was always a little off putting, but they were effective. The twenty-three or so of them, when used together, smoothed out the sharp edges of her mind. The whirling, circling drain of thoughts ended; the incessant anger abated; the unpredictable bouts of melancholy and mania became less severe; the itching paranoia soothed.

They were better than name-brand psychiatric medication with regard to side-effects, but it wasn’t like there weren’t any adverse bodily responses at all. She was often hit by overwhelming fatigue in the middle of the day, and she always felt a little foggy, but that was a small price to pay. 

What really bothered her, though, were the changes in sex-drive. 

Until she lost it, Ashley had always taken her libido for granted. But now she understood why people spayed dogs. She was missing a kind of edge, she thought. That animal scrappiness. 

Left instead of libidinous desire were strange reveries and daydreams, which to an outside observer might not appear lustful at all. For example, she had a recurring fantasy— for lack of a better word— in which she and whoever her preferred object of affection was at the moment would both grab an end of one of her numerous pills with their teeth and bite down at the same time, their lips touching. Not erotic, but not exactly wholesome, either.

Still, that animal inside her— she liked to think of it as a bird of prey— was what had caused so many “accidents” in the past, and she felt more in control when it was subdued. Plus, it made living with someone like Victoria much easier. 

Not that she felt desire for Victoria, per se. It was more like respect. Ashley knew, however, that respect, power, and dignity were all connected to her capacity for attraction. 

***

There was a scream from the other room. 

Ashley burst out of the bathroom and raced toward the source of the sound. She found Victoria in the fetal position on the couch, a trickle of sparkling liquid falling like dew drops from her face.

“Victoria?”

She looked up. “Oh god. Sorry, Ashley. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That implies I am, in fact, capable of being scared, which I am not. However, I am curious.”

“Sorry. It’s nothing, really. I just… sometimes thoughts sneak up-on me, you know? Then I realize them all at once, and it’s like hearing a voice from somebody you didn’t realize was right behind you.”

“Your sister?”

“Well, yeah. But not just her. It’s—” She trembled. “It’s so scary, Ashley.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Ashley returned to the bathroom, searched through her collection of pills, and withdrew one that Bonesaw had described as being, “a little like Xanax, but less addictive.” Only to be used for serious anxiety attacks.

She gave it to Victoria, who stared at it like it was a weapon. “What is it?”

“It’s for panic.”

“I’m not… I don’t think I’m really comfortable with the idea of psychotropic drugs.”

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve struggled all this time with trying to feel like  _ me  _ again, and I’m worried I wouldn’t be, you know, myself if I was on drugs, even if I felt better.”

“Is this you, Victoria, curled up crying on the couch?”

“I mean, I guess so.”

“Take it,” said Ashley. “I can’t bear to see you in pain.” She’d meant to say it sarcastically, but wasn’t sure how successful she’d been.

“That’s sweet, really. But I can’t.”

“I’m on a whole bevy of psychiatric medications right now, Victoria. Are you insinuating that I am somehow not myself at the moment?”

“No no no, I just mean that… sometimes different people need different solutions.”

“What does that mean?”

“I want to work through my problems without, you know, outside assistance.”

“That is the single most moronic thing I think I’ve ever heard you say, Victoria. Take the pill.”

Victoria, with those wide eyes she got when she realized a mistake, put the tablet in her mouth and swallowed. Ashley smiled and sat next to Victoria on the couch. 

***

“Oh, I think I feel it,” said Victoria.

“What do you feel?”

“The panic— it’s gone. All gone.”

“Good,” said Ashley.

Victoria rolled her head back, which amplified the soft curve of her neck. “This feels really good.” Ashley looked at Victoria’s thick red lips (how were they so red without makeup?) and swallowed. 

Victoria put her head on Ashley’s shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re my roommate, Ashley,” said Victoria. Ashley could feel each hot breath against her ear and smell Victoria’s shampoo (some combination of artificial fruits). She crossed her legs.

“Ashley, can you sleep wi— can we sleep in the same bed tonight?”

“...”

“...”

“Um, may I ask why?”

“I’m really scared, Ashley. I don’t want to be alone tonight. Please.”

Victoria’s skin smelled like the beach at night, like sand infused with neon, which made Ashley’s head swirl— maybe the medications, all of them, were wearing off at once. 

“I suppose I can do that.”

***

They stayed on the couch and spoke for a while before heading, both of them, into Ashley’s room, which was cleaner, they’d decided, and closer to the bathroom. Victoria, without looking at Ashley, slid her jeans down— she was wearing dark green boxer-brief-type things, oddly— and crawled under Ashley’s big quilt.

Ashley, after feeling a pang of trepidation, unzipped the back of her black dress, stepped out of it— she was wearing the same color underwear as the dress— aware that Victoria’s eyes were all over her, and joined her in bed. They lay on their backs, a couple inches of space between them. 

Victoria said, “Thanks again, Ashley. I really needed this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh, do you mind if I, like, get closer to you?”

“No… I don’t.”

Then Victoria turned onto her side and kind of scooched until her breasts touched Ashley’s back and her chin rested on Ashley’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

She hugged Ashley from behind. That was how they fell asleep.

***

Ashley was pulled from a dreamless sleep by a tap on the shoulder. A surge of adrenaline shot through her, and she felt spiky arcs of her power bouncing between her fingertips. But it was only Victoria, who, she could see from the hallway light flowing into the room, was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe. The sound of running water was in the distance.

“Hey, uh, Ashley? Sorry for waking you up ,but can, um, can you come sit in the bathroom with me while I’m in the bath? Just, uh, just to, like, keep me company.”

Ashley felt another surge of adrenaline, but was too groggy to interrogate it. “...Okay.”

She followed Victoria to the bathroom, closed the door behind them, even though no one else was in the apartment, and leaned against the sink, feeling a small chill due to her state of undress. The bath was half full, now, with little wisps of steam rising from it.

Victoria undid the belt of her bathrobe, opened it, and let it fall to the floor. This was the first time Ashley had seen Victoria naked for more than half a second, which she was now regretting.

Victoria stepped into the bath, squatted down, and put her back against the white ceramic of their tub. Ashley sat on the toilet. 

“We don’t have to talk,” said Victoria as she turned the faucet off. “I just, I don’t know, needed someone here. Sorry if this is really weird and awkward for you.”

“No, it’s not,” said Ashley. Her eyes meandered across the yellow and red and tan and white expanse of Victoria’s naked body. The edges of her golden hair floated in the water. She saw the little ridges across her stomach, outlining her abdominal muscles, and the gentle sloping curve of her breasts up to her nipples, which were becoming slightly pink from the heat of the water. 

Her legs and armpits, etc. were hairless—there was only the little tuft of light pubic hair, which stood up like coral, swaying slightly with the almost imperceptible ripple of the water. Ashley’s breathing sped up.

“I feel a little like I’ve de-aged, or something,” said Victoria to the air. “With how my family situation’s been… I don’t know. I feel like I’ve gone back in time a little bit. 

“I know what you mean.”

“And I’m scared, Ashley. Scared like how I got scared when I was a little kid.” Victoria’s pale face had turned red, by now. 

The two were silent and unmoving for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the air-conditioning and the slow, gentle slap of the bathwater against the edges of the tub. Ashley thought about how, without a strong libido, she could appreciate the simple aesthetic beauty of Victoria’s body much better than she could with one.

Victoria said, “Hey, uh, I know this is kind of a weird request, and you can totally say no, but would you, uh, could you, like, wash me?”

Ashley swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“Like… okay, yeah, this is really stupid— nevermind.”

“Wash you how, Victoria?”

“I mean, you know, spread the soap across my body. It’s stupid. Don’t listen to me.”

Ashley paused a moment to consider her options. On one hand, she couldn’t deny that dull urge to rub her hands all over Victoria, despite how terrified such a prospect made her. 

On the other hand, though, were she to deny her request, a lot of stress and potential complexity could be avoided.

But could she ever forgive herself for saying no?

“Fine,” said Ashley.

Both of them wordless, Ashley grabbed a bar of white soap, knelt down on the cool white tile in front of the bath, and slid the soap along Victoria’s neck and down to her trapezius muscles, then over her left arm. With her other hand, she rubbed the residue away. When skin touched skin, Ashley felt a tiny spark in her palm, but she wasn’t worried about a misfire— she was more focused than ever. 

After washing Victoria’s other arm, Ashley moved the bar of soap down across her upper chest, feeling the bump of each rib. Then she went lower. Then lower. 

Victoria inhaled as the soap moved over her right nipple, but didn’t say anything or give any indication that she wanted Ashley to stop, so Ashley kneaded Victoria’s right breast with her hands, lathering the soap into the pale flesh, hoping the gentle splashing would conceal her heavy breathing.

She continued her inexorable movement downward, washing Victoria’s stomach— which was harder than it looked— and her sides. Her hands passed over Victoria’s bladder and pelvis.

Before she went any lower, she forced herself to look Victoria in the eye. Part of her, that animal part that had been quiet for so long now, wanted to go ahead and rub and caress and stroke Victoria without any confirmation— damn the consequences. But she didn’t listen to that part of herself anymore.

“Would you like me to… continue?” asked Ashley.

“Uh, go ahead,” said Victoria.

Ashley pushed the soap through over the pubic mound, through the small forest of hair. Then lower. Victoria inhaled sharply, and Ashley stopped. “Keep going,” said Victoria. She continued until the soap was between, all the way between, Victoria’s legs. She felt the soft push of her thighs. 

Victoria made an ineffable sound and said, “Keep going.” Ashley pulled the soap back up, and put her other hand against Victoria’s crotch. 

Victoria made another sound, which Ashley, at first, took to be a moan or groan or sigh, but realized after a second was a sob. She was crying with her face in her hands. 

“Victoria, what’s wrong?”

“I’m” — a burst of tears— “I’m so fucking pathetic.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley gets even more fed up-- if that's possible.

“I’m just so fucking pathetic, Ashley.”

“Victoria, Vic— calm down.”

“I asked you to fucking wash me. Like I’m a fucking child.

Her weeping continued, not slowing or stopping, and her legs trembled so hard the water— what was left of it— splashed out of the tub. 

“Victoria, stop, calm down.”

“Ashley, I’m just so fucking irredeemable. Why? Why am I like this?”

“Victoria, shut up.”

“I’m—” Ashley slapped her across the face. 

“Shut the fuck up! I can’t take it anymore.Victoria, you have to tell me why you are crying. And  _ articulate _ .”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Ow, god, you’re stronger than—”

“I apologize.” 

“ _ I  _ apologize. Really, Ashley,” —not crying now— “I don’t know what came over me. Was it that… that pill you gave me? Something about my inhibitions?”

“Victoria. Listen to me. Was this— and do not lie to me— was this some kind of sexual proposition? Induced, perhaps, by a reduced level of anxiety?”  
“How do you expect me to answer a question like that?”

“Truthfully.”

“I don’t think anything short of bringing Freud back from the dead is going to help me answer that question, Ashley. I mean, you seem to think I have any kind of grip on my sexual… pathology. I don’t. I really fucking don’t. ”

“Try.”

“It’s— alright— it’s like, sometimes fantasies, which really feels like the wrong word, sometimes they sneak up on me, you know. No control whatsoever. And obviously I don’t, like, act on them normally…”

“But this time you did.”

“I… I guess so.”

“This is what your fantasies are? Of me? Washing you?”

“Look, Ashley, I will reiterate: I’m fucked up. Like in the head. And living with you this past however long, I get a kind of  _ feeling _ . Like a physical feeling in my gut when I see you. And you know, I’m not— I’ve always considered myself to be, like, very heterosexual, and it kind of baffles me how these thoughts, like of you, crept inside my head, and I can’t get them out, but now, I think—”

Ashley slapped her again, leaving a red mark like a burn across Victoria’s bright white cheek.

“Ow, seriously, how’d you get so strong?”

“Shut up, Victoria. You’re confusing me. Let’s just be together, for now. Let’s, I don’t know… I don’t want to talk. Talking is awful. Let’s continue our sleep.”

“It’s like ten in the morning now. I’m not tired.”

“I have something Ambien-esque.”

“What is Ambien?”

“You’re so incredibly sheltered, Victoria, you know. Even despite all you’ve been through.”

“So it’s some kind of drug.”

“Sleeping pill.”

Listen, Ashley. I like being sober, I think. I’ve only ever not been sober a couple of times— last night, for instance. The last time, in fact, that I can remember being  _ not  _ sober was when I was in my other body— and that was because they gave me a lot of sedatives at first.”

“Hasn’t your entire goal here been to, you know, move  _ past  _ those kinds of things. Right? So surely this  _ new _ experience, enjoyed with a trusted friend, would be something you want."

“It's obviously not that simple.”

“Nothing is that simple,” said Ashley. "Come on, I’m sick of talking. Let's sleep in the same bed.”

“...”

***

Ashley snapped the maroon oblong in half, licking the white powder that remained on her finger tip. Victoria bit the skin on the edge of her thumb. She pressed the half-tablet against Victoria’s lips, and she opened her mouth, letting Ashley’s finger slide in and place it on her tongue.

“Now swallow,” said Ashley.

“You know, I’m putting a lot of trust in you, Ashley. Like, I’m willing to, you know, obey you and all, but— ”

“Obeying me is all you have to do.”  
“That is… strangely comforting.”

They lay on Ashley’s wide master bed, inches apart, and chatted while anticipating the sudden, brick-like onset of sleepiness.

“Can you remind me why you wanted to sleep through the middle of the day?” asked Victoria.

“I just wanted you to be quiet for once.”

“You know, coming from anyone else, that might sound a little mean.”

“Thank you?”

“...”

Victoria was asleep, light, airy snoring emanating from her, which was more endearing than it had any right to be. Ashley wanted to watch her before collapsing, to see what she looked like sans self-consciousness. There are things between people, she thought, that can only be communicated through sight, touch, smell. Victoria smelled good— clean from a good wash.

Then came the chemical drag, pulling her down. She resisted. 

There was a haze, of course, that warped her perception. Like she was farther back behind her eyes. And when she blinked her eyes stayed closed for longer than normal, flashes of an imminent dream racing through her mind. There were galaxies in her head, and nebulas and quasars and stars.

She floated in and out of not-dreams. It was as if some outside entity was dictating the electric shocks and minute excretions of chemicals that formed her “life.”

She imagined the story of her current predicament being put on long, scroll-like pieces of paper. Infinite, labyrinthine, and twisting towers of words— 

It was too much— she passed out.

***

When she awoke, her arms were around Victoria, and Victoria’s arms were around her, their heads in the crooks of each other’s shoulders. Ashley pulled away.

“What… time is it?” asked Victoria, rubbing her eyes with her wrist.

“Um, I think four… PM.”

“God.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you, mom.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.”

***

With dusk breeze rustling her hair, Ashley wandered through the streets of the Megalopolis. She’d left Victoria behind, feeling she needed a break. There was the moon above her, full and pregnant, and the faint— very faint— outlines of stars around it.

What was she feeling? She tried to “listen to her heart” as Ms. Yamada had told her might be helpful. But there was only its inexorable, taunting thump— not slower or faster than normal. Reminding her of the vividness of her predicament. What kind of mess was this?

Gone were the perfect milligram amounts of bottled feelings to which she was accustomed. 

***

When Ashley returned to the apartment, Victoria, now clothed, confronted her with hands interlaced in front of her and her gaze cast downward.

“Hey, uh, Ashley, can I… talk to you?”

“You may.”

“I may… Okay, um, come here for a second,” said Victoria, and led Ashley to the red couch in their tiny living room.

“What is it?” asked Ashley.

“Well, okay, I’ve been struggling with how to tell you all this. And you might have to, like, excuse some rambling, okay, but basically what I wanted to say was that I’m really, you know, I’m really sorry I broke down like that earlier, and things feel like they’re kind of really awkward between us, and I just wanted to say, you know, I’m like, okay with what happened, and I do  _ like  _ you, but I’m not sure if that extends to me  _ liking  _ you, but sometimes it feels like that, but also, of course, it’s way more complicated than that, and I feel like I’m not, like, adequately expressing what I wanted to…”

“Okay.”

“Sorry for rambling. I’m prone to rambling. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Victoria wore an oversized, thinnish thing that reached down to the middle of her thighs. Casual, but not quite demure. Her (Victoria’s) face had a kind of red sheen, and she was tugging at the end of her thumb with her teeth.

Ashley kissed her, and brought her hand to the back of her blonde head, pulled it away when she felt as if it might spark. 

Victoria broke away. “What was…” she said.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I, uh, I’m… that was. You know, I struggle with impulsivity.”

Victoria began to cry.

“Oh, god,” said Ashley. “I feel like I should not… Are you crying? Again? Don’t cry. Please. I’ve never seen you cry so much. Stop. Please.”

“I’m just the worst.”

“No, stop. Victoria. Stop.”

Victoria made herself quit sobbing. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Why did… that happen?”

“I am not entirely sure. I’m impulsive. As you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are.”

“Why did you burst into tears just now?”

“Um, I don’t— it wasn’t you, if that’s what you’re asking. It was me. It was like… there was just so much in my head.”

“Bad things?”

“I… guess so. I feel terrible.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Sorry. I don’t quite know what I feel.”

“Neither do I,” said Ashley. “Obviously.”

Victoria turned her head away, then she hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. Then she did it again. Then again. 

“Victoria, stop.”

She hit her forehead again with a smack. Ashley grabbed her wrist. Victoria used her other hand. Ashley grabbed her other wrist.

“Fucking stop when I tell you to,” said Ashley.

More tears. “I’m sorry.”

“You have, I think, some work to do. Therapeutically, I mean.”

“So do you,” said Victoria with a broken voice.

“Okay, so why did you just do  _ that.  _ You could’ve killed yourself with your power, Vic. ”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“It’s not. You’re obviously not in full control.”

“Maybe I am, though. And maybe I don’t want to be.”

“What does that mean?”

“I want someone else in control. You. I want you in control… You know, when I think about my old life. In Brockton Bay, you know, with my mom and dad and cousins and… sister, I was on autopilot. I had zero control. All the actions of my life were predestined. Like I was a character in some meticulously planned book. And even when I felt I could maybe, like, exercise some agency, it was still them, my influences, working through me. I hated it. I thought I hated it. But I think I didn’t, really, in the end. I think I’m missing it, these days.”

Ashley sighed. “Okay, but what I’m asking, Victoria, is what I should do about it?”

“Can you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“Punish me.”

“...”

“I mean, sorry… That sounds, like, weird…” 

“What do you want me to do?” asked Ashley. “Specifically.”

“Hit me.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Sorry, this is weird. Nevermind.”

“No, tell me.”

“Well, when you, you know, slapped me earlier, it kind of felt, I don’t know… good. Like, it distracted me.”

“So you want me to slap you again? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Uh, yes. Maybe not the face, this time.”

“Then where?”

“You know, I have this really vivid memory from when I must have been, like, six, or something. And I broke something. Like, out of anger, I broke some glass or something. And my mom, she didn’t even say anything— she was really exhausted from, you know, being a superheroine, I think— and she just put me on her lap and  _ spanked  _ me. And she was really strong, of course, and it was almost like she didn’t want to do it, but it still hurt so much, Ashley, and I don’t really know why she did it, because she had never done it before, and she never did it afterward, but—”

“Victoria.”

“Sorry.”

“Let me try and parse this: You want me to… spank you?”

“I… yeah, I guess so. That seems like the easiest thing.”

“I… okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Come here.”

Victoria, slowly, like an engine starting, leaned over Ashley, shirt brushing face, and put her stomach across Ashley’s legs. The warm weight and soft, subtle texture of flesh and hair was like kindling in Ashley’s gut, just beginning to burn with frightening ferocity. It felt dulled, maybe, but there— without a doubt.

Ashley pulled her hand back, and with a heavy, unplanned breath, she smacked. Victoria squeaked. Then again. Then again, harder. Snapping sounds like the crack of a whip, again and again.

Victoria said, after a few more, “Stop. Stop for a second.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Not… more than I can handle. I want more, actually.” And cautiously, Victoria reached up under the bottom of her shirt and pulled down her tiny running shorts, then her dark, thin underwear, revealing a perfect curvature. Ashley swallowed.

“Okay, keep going,” said Victoria.

Ashley obeyed. When her hand landed this time, the sound Victoria made was more moan than grunt, Ashley thought.

“Please— harder,” said Victoria.

Her timid, yet somehow also forceful voice, was like oil on Ashley’s interior fire. Thoughts, foreign-feeling, bombarded her. Making her feel weak and light-headed. Thoughts the myriad pills were supposed to do away with. But now here they were, stronger than ever.

She had forgotten to take them, she realized.

Perhaps driven by the terror this realization induced (but who could say?) she broke. Her hand, pushed by some outside, non-Ashley force, went down and under and between Victoria’s legs, and she felt dampness, and she followed it with her fingers, pushing up into it. Victoria made that same moan/groan/sigh.

It was impossible to stop at this point.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashley consults a friend/foe for help.

She was soft, so soft. And vulnerable. A perfect specimen in all regards. 

Ashley’s fingers moved up and inside Victoria, encountering further softness— and wetness. The sound Victoria made was like something from an animal. Not from an excess from pleasure, and not a noise of discontent. Something in between. Indeed, that was the territory they were in now: the space between.

She thought back to the girl that had come before. The red-headed subordinate. Unremarkable, at least compared to the girl—  _ woman _ — she was with now. That encounter, she remembered with a shudder, hadn’t ended well. 

And the boy before her. The first. Also an underling, who, in a moment of (uncharacteristic) weakness, Ashley had allowed to be with her. Not “with” actually— more like on top of. A similar ending, that one, but with fewer bad memories. No one would ever be on top of her again. 

Recalling these incidents, that bird of prey took hold of Ashley. She pushed Victoria off her lap and onto the carpeted floor, face-down, making her squeal. Pathetic. She descended on her, gripping her prey with sharp talons, putting her knees on Victoria’s shoulder-blades. More squealing, but no objections— not that those could do a thing.

She pulled Victoria’s long, perfect hair back, gripping a bundle in her fist. So soft. She yanked her head back, then put her mouth next to Victoria’s ear. A long inhale to smell, then a long, hot exhalation to incite fear. She bit the lobe of her ear. Victoria whimpered.

She turned Victoria around so that she looked up at the ceiling.

“Ashley,” she said between pants. “Hold on, sto—”

But while she was saying this, Ashley was hiking her dress up and pulling down her underwear, and she cut Victoria’s stupid, malformed words off by sitting on her face. 

Relief. 

She could feel Victoria’s impotent hands grab at her, feel the vibrations of her muffled words in her sex. It didn’t matter. If Victoria didn’t want this, she could easily push Ashley away. She wanted it. She needed it.

Ashley moved her hips back and forth across the soft, wet surface of Victoria’s face, and pleasure like when her enemies were dead flowed through her. And the guilt of that thought became an aspect of the pleasure. 

She couldn’t admit it, of course, the pleasure, so she focused on keeping her breathing under control and stifling the shrieks and groans that threatened to burst from her throat. The gyration of her hips sped up. It felt like a pot of water was being brought to a boil.

Then she came, collapsed, stood up, saw Victoria’s (damp) face, and she ran away.

***

Ashley slowed to a walk. It was night now, and the buildings of the Megalopolis stood like glowing beacons above her, many, many times her height.

A thrumming in her head, followed by still further unwanted memories:

She was back in an abandoned tenement with the Slaughterhouse Nine in her mutilated state. Long, grotesque fingers and a patch of blank skin where a mouth should be. The other members, mostly fuzzy in her mind’s eye, milled around her. Above her.

And Jack, so vivid and clear-cut to this day, even through the barrier of death, came up to her, grinning. He said, “You’re a toy now, Damsel. Your body belongs to someone else. Your mind belongs to me. Hell, I could have your body too if I wanted it.” Then he ran his hands all along her, under her clothes.

That night, Ashley tried for the first time— but not the last— to blast her head with her power, but she, as she’d known she would, encountered the Manton effect. 

The Ashley in Gimel, still wandering down the endless, maze-like Megalopolis streets, put her back to some decrepit-looking brick wall and slid down until she touched the concrete ground. She put her face in her hands and cried.

Here, she understood that this was who she was. This wasn’t Damsel of Distress, crying on the ground, nor Swansong. This was Ashley. It’d been Ashley atop Victoria. Any other version was someone else’s. 

And yet, at the same time, she knew that any feelings were somehow bastardized facsimiles of her  _ real  _ feelings. Those that little girl in Boston so long ago would feel.

Without looking, she pulled off her prosthetic hands, threw them into the center of the street, made an internal pledge to never swallow another pill, and started the trek to find help.

***

The other Ashley—the one retaining the title of “Damsel” — awoke in the middle of the night. She turned away from the warm body in bed with her, switched on the bedside-table lamp, and continued to read the magazine of poetry she’d found.

During her stay in prison, Damsel had taken to poetry. The lyrical assonance and consonance brought some beauty to her inner thoughts.

She read the first stanza of one:

_ Two girls there are: within the house _

_ One sits; the other, without. _

_ Daylong a duet of light and shade _

_ Plays between these. _

Then the door to her apartment opened, and she put the magazine away. Slipping out of bed so as to not wake her partner, she glided across the hardwood floor to ambush the intruder. When she reached the source of the noises, she thought she might still be dreaming. The intruder was herself.

Remembering the horrific surreality of her situation, she was calmed. 

Ashley looked like she was about to break into one of her trademark rants, so Damsel put her fingers on her lips and led them outside the room.

“Is someone in there with you, Sister” said Ashley.

“What of it?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s not a problem, dear Sister. Not a problem at all. Though, it does beg the question: Why are you here?”

“Before I tell you this,” said Ashley, “you need to understand the significance of it.”

“Well, I can’t understand it if you don’t— nevermind. What is it?”

“I am coming to you for… assistance.”

“Oh! This is good. This is very good. I will have  _ myself  _ in debt to me. I like the sound of that.”

“I don’t mean I need a favor, Sister. I need advice.”

“The result is the same. Either way, though, why would you ask me for advice? We have— in the most literal sense— the same mind.”

“That’s just it. We don’t. Our minds are cast from the same mould, but they have different imperfections.”

Damsel’s fingers crackled. “Imperfections?”

“Poor wording, I apologize. I only mean to say we have had different experiences since our, well, our birth.”

“That’s true enough.”

“I, for example, have been on a regimen of psychiatric medication, a decision I have only recently come to see the error in.”

“I told you in prison, Sister, our minds have born enough ruination already.”

“Indeed, you were correrct. I should have never doubted you. Doubted myself.”

“Hm. So, what advice do you seek?”

“You met my colleague, correct? Antares?”

“Ah, I remember her well. The blonde.”

“Yes.”

“Beautiful, really. I admit, I envied you when I met her. Have you  _ wooed  _ her yet?”

“I don’t—”  
“Sister, please, spare me. When will you learn we have the same eyes?”

“Eyes, maybe. I’m not so sure about our tastes… Anyway, you happen to have gotten to the heart of the matter on accident.”

“You wooed her?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And events got… out of your control?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How typical! How many times have I told you, Sister, you need to get rid of this ridiculous notion that you have to be someone ‘new.’”

“You’re correct.”

“Really? I am? It’s a little surprising to hear you say that, Sister.”

“I am as surprised as you,” said Ashley.

“So you’ve come to ask advice on how exactly to do that?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“This just keeps getting better! Ha!”

“Don’t push it.”  
“What do you need to know?”

“Specifically, I wanted to ask you about… sex. You know, these medications… the word you would use is ‘neutered.’ They took away my instincts. And now that I have them back, well, it’s slightly overwhelming.”

“Haha! Yes, indeed, Sister, we are powerful. God— or, I suppose, Bonesaw, in this case— made us with perhaps too much of the animal in our DNA. I feel it all the time.”

“I… I think I know what you’re referring to.”

“Of course you do. That may be what makes us  _ us  _ the most: our drive. Our urges.”

“So how do you… function with that knowledge,” said Ashley.

“Function? Sister, I do not merely function. I  _ thrive. _ ” Ashley rolled her eyes. “In fact,” continued Damsel, “I have advanced my newly-born career as a villain today. And I did so by harnessing those ‘urges’ you speak so negatively of.”

“Does that have something to with the person in your apartment at the moment?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps it does. But listen, Sister, the lesson I’m trying to impart here is that for everyone, for us parahumans especially, it is not only important but  _ necessary _ to get in touch with our roots. Our identities, our souls— whatever name you want to give it. For that is where true strength lies. Don’t hide from yourself. From who you truly are.”

“That is easier said than done.”

“Obviously. But— as I mentioned— it is absolutely necessary. If it’s sex that has you worried, then apply this principle in that act moreso. It’s a primal act, and you— _ we _ — are born to dominate.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“Of course.”

Ashley turned and left. Damsel returned to her bed, and, feeling a sudden jolt in her stomach, put her legs on either side of her partner, bent down to their face, and licked their ear.

***

When Ashley returned to the apartment she and Victoria shared, she found Victoria unconscious on the floor. A quick check of her pulse revealed she was still alive, but shouting her name did not wake her. 

A couple feet from Victoria’s opened hand was an empty orange bottle. Ashley picked it up, and the label told her it was the medicine for panic. 

She kicked Victoria in the side. No movement. She kicked her again. Her eyes fluttered open. 

“Victoria.”

“Ashley?”

“Get up.”

“I… hold on.”

Ashley kicked her again. “Get the fuck up, Victoria.”

She stood up. “What… what happened?”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“I… don’t…”

Ashley kicked her in the calf. 

“God,” said Victoria. “Stop, I get it. You’re really playing with fire by doing that, you know.”

“Shut up, Victoria. Tell me what you did. For example, tell me why there is an empty pill-bottle near you.  _ My  _ empty pill-bottle.”

“That was… I just… I remember what, you know, what happened. What we did. And I remember that you left, and I remember feeling, like… bad.”

“Bad.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t mean that to a, like, excuse. I’m sorry, Ashley. I’m really sorry. It’s my fault. I just… had a lot of, I guess, bad feelings come up afterward.”

“Because of me?”

“In  _ spite  _ of you, I think. I was just, you know, reminded of things. I don’t know, really. I feel kind of out of it.”

“Listen to me, Victoria,” said Ashley. “Are you listening? Because this is important: from now on, you’re going to exactly what I say, and only what I say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That stanza is from "Two Sisters of Persephone" by Sylvia Plath, in case you were interested.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's who?

“You know,” said Riley, “I’ve been trying to get away from that way of thinking.”

“What kind?” said Damsel.

“That I’m some kinda great creator or artist or anything other than human. Dr. Yamada says it’s bad to think of myself that way.”

“I thought you weren’t going to let anyone in your head anymore?”

Riley rolled her eyes. Around her lay a Christmas tree of surgical instruments: some for prying and pulling, others for cutting and poking. All within arm’s reach, which was pretty close for someone of her stature. 

“Plus,” said Damsel, “you are a God. Objectively. You created me. I should be on all fours right now, begging for forgiveness.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this. Can you just, you know, get to the point?”

Damsel picked up a scalpel and held it between her thumb and index finger, then she bounced it up and down so it appeared to wiggle. “Tell me about what you did for my sister.”

“You mean your clone? Sorry, can’t. Doctor-patient confidentiality, et cetera.”

“Ah, but aren’t we legally identical, my sister and I? Surely there’s some kind of loophole.”

“I mean, there’s no legal problem or anything. I kind of just thought if I said that you’d leave me alone. Because I really don’t have time for you. I’m fully booked. Can a God be fully booked?”

Riley checked on her experiments, noted the excellent levels of growth in each, and tried to ignore the creeping presence of Damsel behind her, who was inching closer every second. 

“But you forget, oh Goddess-Queen,” said Damsel. “The power I have over you. At this very moment.”

“You can’t hurt me.”

“Physically, no. But you must know, I remember. I remember things those you are the ward of would like very much to know. Things that could ruin you. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Riley didn’t like to interact with people like the Damsel of Distress (Mk. II). Not because of her villainous aura or her casual contempt, but because she was twice Riley’s height and had a kind of softness and curviness and maturity she never would. Because Damsel was impure, and Riley wasn’t.

Of course, both had sinned — too many times to count — but with age came a dirtiness that was impossible to quantify. An enmired soul, a sordid heart. Riley knew too well the difference between a woman and a girl. She could practically smell it. And its scent was thick on Damsel at the moment.

The God comparison was a little too accurate. God never aged. Angels were sexless. She didn’t like to think about that, though, which was why she wanted to get Damsel out of the picture as fast as possible.

“Jeez! Fine!” said Riley. “Get off my case already.”

***

The next night, as Ashley ran her hands through Victoria’s hair, she couldn’t quite get over how infinite it was. Its color never changed and it went on forever and ever and ever, like a bottomless pool in Ashley’s lap. 

“It was like I’d gone through some kind of portal,” said Victoria, “and I was finally experiencing what real happiness was like. Like what regular people feel when something good happens to them.”

“I’m surprised you can even remember what it was like. I’m surprised you remember your name.”

“I didn’t know how powerful they’d be.”   


“It’s not an excuse. You’re going off the deep end, Victoria.”

“You’re so warm.”

Ashley bent down and touched her lips to Victoria’s forehead. “You’re mine.”

Then she contorted her body so she could kiss her lips, and she found Victoria’s mouth pliable and willing, opening to allow an interplay of tongues. They undressed — not with as much vigor as the night before, but softly, this time, with more attention paid to the discarded clothes.   


Ashley stayed on top throughout it all. She felt an energy she hadn’t felt before (in this life, at least), like she was a more primitive kind of human who never had to worry or feel sad because she was simply fulfilling her core programming. 

When Victoria asked to be hit, she obliged, which made her come faster than she’d intended. 

They wrapped around each other afterward, with Victoria’s head nestled in Ashley’s armpit. 

“I’m disgusting,” said Victoria. “I don’t want to want it, but I do, and it’s disgusting.”

“To have sex?”

“To be  _ owned _ .”

“Why is that so wrong?”

“Because that’s what she did to me. And if I want it now, doesn’t it mean I wanted it back then? Or that I deserved it?” Victoria squeezed her eyes closed and let little trickles of liquid fall.

Ashley found a dull rage growing in the pit of her stomach. New and yet familiar. “Victoria, remember when you said you would do anything I asked without question? Good, because now I’m ordering you not to talk to yourself that way.”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You will obey.”

“Can I have another one of those pills? Just to help me sleep?”

“Can you please shut up?”

Ashley was asleep soon after that, but Victoria couldn’t keep her eyes closed — whenever she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she could be paralyzed in her sleep, which would complete her transition into objecthood.

***

In the morning, Ashley went to an appointment, and Victoria said she would stay at the apartment.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. “I need a mental health day.”

But, home alone, she couldn’t shake a gnawing anxiety. There was a tension in her chest that wouldn’t let up, and it compounded even as she ate and read and showered. So at some point (as was inevitable) she stepped into Ashley’s bathroom and found her collection of pills, which was enormous. Was she meant to take all of these every day?

If the Ashley she knew was Ashley was a medicated one, she shuddered to think what the alternative would be. 

Victoria passed her fingers over the labels until she found the familiar one. She wouldn’t take as many as she had last time — only enough to take the ice away. She swallowed the oval pills with water from the sink, then lay on her bed and tried (to no avail) to think of nothing at all.

She recalled the sensation of Ashley gyrating across her face so animalistically, grunting and groaning and acting somehow less than human. It terrified her as much as it aroused her. 

She recalled meeting Ashley for the first time, so long ago now, the memory surrounded with haze like those from childhood. She recalled the reports of the first Damsel of Distress’s actions within the Slaughterhouse Nine, the atrocities. She recalled the murders she had witnessed first-hand.

Why did she want someone like that so much? Why did she find herself acting servile and submissive around her when to do so went against (what she thought were) her core beliefs?

Then the pills took effect, and the thoughts floated away. It felt, all of a sudden, so pleasant to be in her body. She stretched and took in the sensation of having Victoria’s fingers and arms and torso and legs and toes. She grinned at nothing at all.

The front door opened, and Victoria stepped off the bed like a slinky falling down stairs, eager to greet her owner, and it was so easy to say ‘owner’ in her mind — no translation necessary.

“Hello, pet,” said Ashley.

“Pet?” said Victoria, and she giggled. “Should I get down on all fours for you? Would you like that?”

Ashley smirked. “If you’re offering.”

Still giggling, Victoria knelt in front of Ashley, and when she looked up, she felt something like reverence. The carpet burned her bare knees. She pulled her top off and bent to kiss Ashley’s low heels and hug her soft legs.

Ashley shook her off and went to sit on the sofa, then she spread her legs so that her dress formed a kind of sideways tent. She said, “Crawl.”

Victoria obeyed. Everything became blackness and moisture and muffled sighs. She felt a hand at the back of her head, and it felt new and smooth, like the hand of God. Had she changed her prosthetic?

The front door opened. Frantically, Victoria stood up and turned to face her intruder. It was Ashley.

And then the whole fiasco clicked into place and she dashed to the bathroom and didn’t have time to pull her hair back before she puked, over and over, into the toilet, and so when she stood little flecks of vomit swayed in her periphery like rancid stars.

There was the crackly blast of Damsel’s power from the other room, as well as yelling she couldn’t decipher. There was a crash close behind her, and she whipped around, ready to fight, but it had only been the Wretch, which had smashed the sink and mirror. Neon pill-bottles littered the tile floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences.

Damsel lay at her feet with a hole in her chest, through which Ashley could see the furry carpet. No blood — the wound was burned closed. Instant cauterization was a convenient side effect of her power: it minimized clean-up. 

The only sound was Victoria crying in the other room, interrupted occasionally by smashing and retching. 

Standing above her conquered clone, Ashley’s blood burned and sparked, and her power misfired once or twice, scorching the floor. She had become the hawk. The fury, the harpy, the roc. 

She obliterated the body with blast after blast, until there was nothing left but dust, and she inhaled the scent of burnt hair and skin like it was cocaine. It made her feel invincible. She was in one of those nature documentaries she used to watch in prison: the buck circling the rival it’d just gored.

Now, to claim her prize. 

Victoria was bent over the toilet, surrounded by Ashley’s obsolete pill-bottles. She was panting and groaning and sniffling like a wounded rabbit. Ashley knelt and pulled Victoria’s hair back. It was slick and greasy in her hands, and its characteristic golden sheen was gone.

“Don’t worry,” said Ashley. “The problem’s been taken care of.”

Victoria retched again. Nothing came out.

Ashley rubbed Victoria’s smooth back, which was uncovered to reveal the smooth pale skin that was too often hidden from view, and she let go of her hair and used both hands to caress more of it. She kissed the back of Victoria’s neck, and she caught the scent of vomit in her nostrils. Victoria retched again.

“I’ll clean you,” said Ashley. She turned on the faucet for the bath, undid Victoria’s bra, and pulled her upright. This body before her, full and soft and weak, belonged entirely to her. The competition had been eliminated. 

Instinctively, she grunted and bent to kiss Victoria’s nipples, and she used more teeth than tongue, and she bit hard enough to make her squeal, and she kept going even as she felt the resistance — no one could take her winnings away.

Then she was on the other side of the room, and there was a sharp pain all along her back. Victoria looked at the ground. 

“Sorry,” she said. “Just, I can’t be touched right now.”

She had pushed Ashley away? With her power? Ashley breathed air through her nose. “What did you just do, Victoria?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, and she took her jeans and underwear off and stepped into the bath, which was only a quarter full.

“Sorry?” asked Ashley. She flexed her fingers in and out and tried to ignore the electricity that threatened to burst from them. 

“I was trying to push you away, and you wouldn’t stop. I can’t be touched right now. I need to sit in this bath for a week, I think, before I even shake anyone’s hand.”

“You’re mine,” said Ashley.

“I mean, when we have sex, sure, but—”

“You’re mine.”

“I was just someone else’s.”

There was a flash of light, and Ashley looked down to see a crater by her feet.

“I think,” said Victoria, “you should be alone for a bit. So you don’t destroy our apartment.”

Ashley fired another blast, on purpose this time, and she left the bathroom. 

***

Eight p.m. marked forty-eight hours since she’d last swallowed one of those infernal pills, and now, it seemed, all the lost drive was returning at once. It felt like her body had been replaced by something oilier than flesh, hot and slick, and every particle of her being wanted to fuck fuck fuck. 

She wanted to march into the bathroom, rip Victoria from the bath, and consume her — all of her — right there on the tile floor. She wanted it so much it was painful.

And why not? Someone was bound to notice her sister’s absence soon, and it wouldn’t take parahuman ability to find the culprit, and then Ashley would be on some dreadful otherworld, where, as far as she knew, there were very few blonde bombshells. Now might be her last chance.   


Another part of her, though, remembered Victoria’s hurt, broken face (that someone else had caused it was the worst part) after she shoved Ashley away and wanted to never see it again. 

The decreased dexterity in her prosthetics made it difficult to masturbate effectively with her fingers, and it was frustrating to even try, but all the same, she rubbed the pseudo-flesh against herself desperately.

While her hand pawed ineffectually, she imagined a nude Victoria speaking to her, praising her endlessly. Begging. “How strong, how beautiful; please,  _ please _ .” If only the flesh-and-blood version could do the same. There is nothing more pathetic, she thought, than someone who doesn’t know their place. 

In addition to the pleasure and hunger, Ashley felt cool rage. Victoria’s punishment would be severe, and considering all the ways she could go about it made her graceless hand move faster.

Then, as she was about to reach her climax, the imaginary Victoria — without conscious direction — said, “She tasted better than you,” and Ashley’s eyes went wide and she ripped her hands away.

***

Hours passed this way, the two residents in separate rooms, a grim silence over them both. Ashley gave up on trying to alleviate the desire, and tried to distract herself from it instead by reading  _ The Origin of Species  _ by Charles Darwin, which she’d been trying to get through for what felt like months now.

She was in the middle of a long description of a finch when Victoria came into her room and said without preamble: “I’ve changed my mind.” She was nude and her eyes were bloodshot.

Ashley looked up and forced herself to remain expressionless. “About what?”

“Touch me. I want you to touch me. All over.”

Ashley restrained herself. “Didn’t you say you wanted anything  _ but _ that? After you used your Brute-strength on me?”

“I need it, Ashley. I’m yours.”

“I think I’m still mad at you, you know, from when you threw me against a wall. You could’ve paralyzed me, you know.”

Victoria closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please, I’m begging you. Touch me. Fuck me. I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.”

And as Victoria looked down and away, Ashley leapt to her feet and grabbed her and threw her to the ground and put her knees on either side of her body, which smelled like scentless soap. She put her hands on either side of Victoria’s face and pulled it toward her own and kissed her roughly. 

Victoria pulled away and said, “Choke me.”

Ashley put her thumbs over the center of Victoria’s neck and pushed down enough to obstruct her breathing but not totally suffocate.

“Harder,” gagged Victoria. 

Ashley pushed harder, the anger in her stomach growing like a bonfire. In that moment, she hated Victoria. An aimless, sourceless hate that felt primitive and animal and raw. She hated her the way a tiger hates a gazelle, the way the oppressor hates the oppressed. 

She heard ragged, strained breathing, and she pushed harder. Victoria closed her eyes and opened her mouth soundlessly, as if in total bliss. Ashley heard the thump of blood and nothing else. This was fulfillment. This was satisfaction. 

Then Victoria went limp, and her limbs flopped to the ground. 

Ashley yanked her hands away and stood up. The neck was still intact — not a misfire. She knelt and put her ear to the bruised windpipe. There were little trickles of air, thank God, and a slow but definite pulse. She was only unconscious. 

Ashley’s whole body throbbed. This was what Victoria had wanted all along: to be insensate on the floor with a bright red collar circling her neck, and Ashley realized, with a growing horror, that she’d given it to her without a second thought. Lust had made her blind. 

Ashley left her and went to the living room where there was still a pile of bitter, black dust on the ground. It looked like peppercorns. It had been a thoughtless action. The first blast, the one that ripped through Damsel’s chest, was a simple reaction to the stimulus.

After beginning therapy, Ashley started to read old psychology textbooks, mostly to be prepared for any tricks Dr. Yamada might throw her way. She remembered a picture in one of these books, striking in its absurdity, of a pigeon looking at an array of signs with the names of colors on them: red, green, yellow, red. The caption read, “Operant Conditioning”. The pigeon would be shown a color, then would indicate the appropriate sign, and be rewarded — for failure, brutal punishment. 

Staring down at the crumbling remains of her clone/sister/friend, Ashley felt a powerful connection to that pigeon. 

She sat next to the hill of dust, crossed her legs, and tried to stem the nausea gurgling in her stomach. It was an illness. Her whole state of being was a diagnosable disease that could be identified by anyone who came into contact with her, an illness that could only be contained by hundreds and hundreds of little gelcaps and capsules and tablets and salves and syrups. But only contained, never cured. 

She grabbed her face and willed the muscles that controlled her power to fire, to blast, to destroy, but of course they didn’t. 

Despairing, she grabbed some of the Damsel-powder in her fingers, rubbed it over her fingertips, and drew with her stained fingers a cross on her forehead, like she’d seen the priest do to her mother and father and her old self on Ash Wednesday all those lifetimes ago. 

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

***

When Victoria opened her eyes, Ashley got off her bed and stood above her, her toes over Victoria’s hair. 

“Good morning, Sleepyhead,” said Ashley.

“Oh god,” said Victoria in an affectless voice. “Why did I think that would work?”

“Here’s some aspirin. Passing out is supposed to be awful for you, you know.”

“I guess I wasn’t in a very health-conscious mood.”

“We should probably take you to a doctor.”

“No. No doctors.”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Victoria rolled her eyes, winced, and said, “Get the fuck away from me, Ashley.”

Ashley flexed the muscles in her arms, then backed away from the body on the floor. 

Victoria’s breathing became sharp and quick and shallow as she sat up, and her eyes darted around, like prey looking for a predator. “Is she here?”

“Who?”

“You. The other you.”

“I told you, the problem’s been taken care of.”

“By which you mean she’s—”

“Dead. Dust. Smithereens.”

“Jesus Christ you’re such a fucking psychopath,” said Victoria, and as she stood up the lamp on the bedside table exploded, and Victoria wobbled. Ashley went to the other side of the room.

“Would you rather I’d kept her around? You were under her skirt like a little child, Victoria, what was I supposed to do?”

“When was the last time you took your medications?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because you’re acting like a  _ fucking psychopath. _ ”

Ashley failed to blink away tears, and they drove down her face in perfect lines. “This is my room,” she said. “And I don’t think we should be in the same room right now.”

Victoria sighed, then left, destroying the door frame as she did. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finale.

Victoria dreamed of Glory Girl and her semi-fictional exploits. First-person, she watched her punch a skinhead to the asphalt, she watched her pick him up (wispy, mid-twenties) and spit in his bloody face. His face: tattooed and grotesque. Then, grinning with red teeth, the guy sputtered out, “Through Jesus, we are all children of God,” and Victoria shot up in her bed, which felt like a hotel’s, and she groped for the bottle of pills on her bedside table. 

She swallowed two of the purple ovals with her spit and lay down and tried not to fall asleep. The Bonesaw-Xanax, it turned out, was wont to give her nightmares, which of course only continued the vicious cycle — pill, sleep, panic, pills, repeat.

The spots of her skin that felt like some lesser mammal’s burned. Her thighs, her abdominal muscles, and her lips were the most plausible options, she thought, for which parts of her might be a dog’s or rat’s originally.

Maybe her brain was that of a rodent’s as well, with how she’d been acting. Like a mouse in a maze, with wires all through her skull and down through her breasts and her cunt, wired only to respond to little excretions of dopamine pumped through an unseen scientist’s pipette. A dog barking at the ring of a bell, a cat purring at a can opener. A pet. A fucking pet.

And if it was only anger that accompanied this line of thinking, it might’ve been okay, but it wasn’t. It was animal adrenaline, fight-or-flight, which was more pathetic, surely, than fury or sadness or even numbness. She was a slave to that little shot of ice. And so was that nameless skinhead in her dream, and so was Ashley, and so was Damsel, and so was Bonesaw, and so was Amy, and so was Carol, and so was Khepri, and so was Scion. Maybe it was only the abstract, monotheistic-type, capital-G God that was free. 

She turned on her side and and stared at the labelless, translucent-yellow pill-bottle and thought it might begin to glow and speak to her burning bush style, but instead it grew duller and more oversaturated, and she grabbed it and slid out another purple pill and bit it in half and crunched it until it was powder, savoring the acrid taste. 

There were a few logical actions she could take from this position: (1) murder (of Ashley, maybe, but the target didn’t matter so much, she felt), (2) suicide (through more pills or maybe just using her flight creatively), or (3) some combination of the two.

These ideas were tempting, but she knew she couldn’t act on them. She was paralyzed by both fear and its (theoretical) antidote.

***

Weeping was different than crying. Crying was a tear shed from exposure to beauty or horror, but weeping was a cascade of stinging and wet and messy and unstoppable fluids — a bodily process like any other, like urination, like ovulation, like an orgasm. 

Ashley was weeping now. Slimy mucus coated her face and her eyes stung and there was a pool of moisture soaking into her (expensive) sheets. The sheets she and Victoria had shared, and never would again. 

How pathetic it was to be having such a reaction to… what? A breakup? A murder? Death of a loved one? It didn’t matter, she supposed. Discovering the source of one’s distress did little to lessen it, she knew, and she didn’t want to think about anything, she didn’t want to feel anything — she wanted only the dull half-feelings that came in bottles and could be named and touched and hidden.

She went to the bathroom and stood above the scattered medicines, then knelt to the floor and put them back in their appropriate places, matching pills to their bottles and the bottles to their place in the cabinet (which was missing a door now) from memory. 

Then, as if nothing had changed between a few mornings ago and now, she swallowed the appropriate pills until the lump in her throat had been replaced, already beginning to feel soothed. There was no mirror to look into. She decided, as well, that a dose of powerful, euphoria-inducing anti-anxiety was warranted, and she reached for where it would be, and discovered that, as she really should have known, it wasn’t there.

And as she imagined Victoria in a daze, barely conscious and happy, she ached to confront her and berate her and, ultimately, have rough, violent sex with her. Indeed, it was what that internal bird of prey would’ve done. It was what Damsel would’ve done. How evil this interroom was, between ingestion and effect. How different she would feel once the pharmaceuticals kicked in. 

The chemicals, foreign and domestic, tumbling through her bloodstream were like a marionette’s strings, she understood, and they dictated every action she made. The concept of “Ashley” was only incidental. Events would take their course, debating them was pointless, and it was presumptuous to believe she could alter them in any way. That was the only explanation for all these past and present catastrophes.

She should do what felt right, what her heart (“heart” being shorthand for instinct, in this case) told her. That was the only way. She would do what she would do. It was that easy.

And here was the epiphany: when the situation was understood in this way, its true nature revealed, she realized she didn’t want the purely physical and ultimately meaningless gratification that the vigorous lovemaking with/yelling at Victoria might provide. She wanted the unfeeling placidity the medication gave her. Only that and nothing more. It was the only way.

***

Victoria’s body went rigid when she heard the front door open and close, relaxed somewhat when she realized it was only Ashley leaving. 

Time in the chemical stupor moved differently than sober-time. Neither slower or faster, but somehow curved and warped and uninterpretable. It wasn’t as if an hour passed like a minute, or vice-versa, but that the concepts of hours and minutes were unimportant and inconsequential. The past had passed and the future was too far away to think about.

She didn’t know how much of the active ingredient (whatever that was) was in each tablet, but she’d taken twelve, probably/maybe, since the incident with Damsel. And it seemed to be the magic number: no fear at all. Not covered but absent, the way it’d been that first time Ashley had fed her one.

Recalling these interactions that’d led up to her romantic relationship with Ashley, she felt — though any kind of feeling was difficult at this point — something like melancholy. A dull sadness that called attention to how cold her bed was. 

Was romantic the right word? Did she feel affection for Ashley outside of physical attraction? Or was love only sex misspelled? It seemed desirable, either way, to be desired, and words like affection, attraction, desire didn’t cover half of what she felt for Ashley. What she felt was something less human than language. And surely that was mutual. And surely, short of divine intervention, it would continue.

***

“Look, Bonesaw,” said Ashley when she was let into her office. “I’m not mad. I have every right to be furious and even to carry out some sort of retaliation. But I’m not.”

“Um, okay,” said Riley, who was elbow-deep in something bloody and organic. “Then like why are you here?”

“I’m here because there’s a big unless. I won’t do anything to you, although I definitely could,  _ unless _ you do something for me. I require a favor, is what I’m getting at.”

“Making all of you was a mistake. For a lot of reasons.” Something squelched. “I seriously do not have time to be doing favors for everyone who could potentially blackmail me. Especially considering the kind of blackmail you have.”

“I don't think you understand the extent of my blackmail. I’m not mad you made my clone look like me. I’m mad about how she used it. And, consequently, I’m furious at you for being so indescribably shortsighted.”

“My bar for feeling guilt is like pretty high, these days.”

“You owe me.”

“For what?”

“For subjecting me to this existence.”

“Jeez, you’re pretty edgy, huh?”

Ashley sighed. “Can I just tell you what the favor is, and then you can decide if you have time or not?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“I’m sure you understand better than most what ‘emotions’ are. Or at least their chemical makeup. Where they come from. And essentially I want that part of me that removed.”

Riley pulled her hands from the bloody mess and removed the rubber gloves and turned to face Ashley. “That would involve brain surgery. You could die.”

“When was the last time you killed a patient? On accident, I mean.”

“And what if I refused to do something so, you know, ungodly? Also like maybe you should talk to a therapist or something about that kind of thing. It really helps, you know. Because even I wouldn’t be able to undo something like that.”

“I’ve made my mind up. Really, Bonesaw, you understand how much it hurts me to beg for anything. And now here I am, on my knees, begging. Figuratively, of course. And you owe me.”

Not for the first time, the responsibility of having brought people into the world weighed on Riley. A mistake, in so many ways a mistake. Even the thought that these artificial humans might experience pleasure or joy or comfort made her sick, because no one had given her the right. She wondered how mothers lived with themselves.

And of course the awful paradox was that she didn’t have any right to take it away, either. She did owe Ashley. She owed all her creations. Maybe it was why she could never say no to them.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine!” And she beckoned for Ashley to come closer, and when she did she produced (from nowhere, it seemed) a mask and put it over Ashley’s mouth and nose and then she was unconscious. She dreamed of Bonesaw pulling a pigeon from her head.

***

When Ashley returned, she informed Victoria in a toneless voice, without giving her a chance to interrupt, what she’d done, and that they were no longer whatever they had been previously, and that, in fact, she was moving out whenever an opportunity arose.

Victoria was on the floor and leaking profusely from her eyes during this exchange, saying things like, “How could you?” and “You stupid fucking impulsive idiot!” and “Why didn’t you even tell me?” but it didn’t register on Ashley, who felt exactly what she had wanted to feel, which was nothing at all, although it wasn’t as if this fact made her happy or angry or sad. 

She wanted nothing, she hated nothing. She would eat on a regular schedule, because thirst and hunger, even, were gone. No one else would die at her hand. No more need for medication. 

She was cured. 


End file.
